It's okay, I didn't need my feels anyway. Last chapter.


Neither Finland nor Russia had expected Sweden to find out about them as fast as he did. They didn't intend to keep it a secret if anyone asked but if they weren't bothered by questions, they wouldn't say out loud what they had done. Finland least of them.

Because even if he still fully believed that he had nothing to account for to anyone, he was a tad anxious about how the other Nordics would react if they found out. Only Denmark seemed to like Russia for more than his cheap alcohol, but even so, the Finn had a feeling he wouldn't take it lightly if it was revealed to him that Finland had banged his cold neighbour in the East.

Finland and Russia continued to hang out, living blissfully ignorant about how fast the rumour of their little 'bonding' passed through Europe. They had become so good friends that they joked with each other and Russia had even agreed to learn a little bit of Finnish. Finland, stubborn and proud as he was, still refused to learn the language his new friend used, though. He had explained why and Russia hadn't questioned it. He understood and frankly, after having forced him to stay at his house for quite some time, Russia had had an idea that Finland would most likely never want to learn Russian.

At the World Meetings, they no longer growled and snarled at each timer, nor did they ignore the other completely, as they had done before. They would, instead, chatter and debate mutually and when small breaks were put in, they could often be found hanging out together. The Nordics had – of course – noted the huge difference in relationship and despite being relieved that the possibility of another war between the two had dwindled, they were also a tad nervous. This nervousness, however, was directed at Sweden.

They couldn't see how he took it. He would send more and longer deadly glares at Russia but he wouldn't voice his disapproval of his and Finland's friendship. Occasionally, he would ask Finland over for a night of TV-watching and furniture-making and although Finland agreed every time and was always excited to spend time with him, he feared for the day where he might be rejected in favour of Russia.

That was possibly Sweden's biggest fear – that Finland would end up liking Russia more than him. The thought was unbearable and he tried not to think of it too often but sometimes, when he heard from Denmark how much fun the two alcohol-breathing nations had had together, he could feel his heart make a nervous and anxious jump.

In general, he was silent about this. He didn't actively do anything to hinder Finland and Russia's friendship but he most certainly didn't help it, either. Twice, he had been asked to hang out with them but he had declined. Spending time with the Finn was the best thing he could imagine. Spending time with the Russian was the worst. Combined, it would make the night dreadful but bearable.

Sweden wouldn't say anything about Russia when Finland was nearby, afraid to create bigger distance between them than what he felt already existed. Just as he didn't talk about Finland when Russia was present, if he could avoid it. He couldn't stand Russia's constant blabbering about how cute and sweet and entertaining the little Finn was, and it was horrible to hear him speak of the time they spent together.

However, it wasn't until Denmark told him that Finland and Russia had had sex together, that Sweden realized what this particular feeling was called. When Denmark explained how he had gotten his ears on this rumour – he had been told by Prussia, who had heard it from Hungary, who had been told by Poland, who had it from Lithuania who then again had heard it from Russia himself – he stopped finishing up the bookcase he had been working on for quite some time.

He stared over at the Dane who was gasping and panting. His face was bright red and shone with sweat, a hand tightly around the door knob, leaving the door open and cold air blew inside.

Sweden didn't understand.

"Have ya been runnin' over here?"

"Took the snowmobile. Faster and cheaper than the bridge, now that Øresund is frozen over. I just heard from Prussia that Finland has slept with Russia and I thought you ought to know-"

"Why did ya think that?"

Why did he have to know that? Wouldn't it be better if he had lived in blissful ignorance for a longer time, preferably until his love for Finland had died out? If the passionate flame could even burn out… He doubted it could. He just loved Finland too much and done so for too long.

"Why would I want t' know what Fin's doin' with Russia?" He forced himself to be calm and composed. But something gave him away, because Denmark clearly didn't fall for it.

"What he does is non' of m' business." Even if he wanted to have an idea about how Finland and Russia's relationship worked out.

"It's the love of your life we're talking about here!"

"Don't ya think I'm aware of that?" Sweden got up from his kneeling position, brush and spray in hand, and seemingly calmly moved over to the table with tools he used for making furniture.

"Aren't you shocked at all?" Denmark asked, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open just a bit.

Sweden looked at him for a long, long time. Shocked? That wasn't the word. Finland, the only person he had ever loved, the only person he would happily give his country to, the only person he would wish to spend eternity with, had slept with another man. And not just any man – the man he hated more than any, even more than Denmark, the man who had taken aforementioned love from him while laughing madly.

How could Sweden not be shocked? How could Sweden not be…

"I'm devastated." His heart was hurting, physically hurting. Every beat was done in stinging pain. His mind didn't want to believe it; several theories of what could have happen whirled around in his mind. Maybe Prussia had been exaggerating? It was like that expression Denmark liked so much and used so often that even Sweden knew it by heart – en fjer bliver til fem høns, which roughly meant that a statement escalated every time it was told to someone.

Maybe Finland and Russia had simply… kissed or something. It would be just like Poland and Prussia to exaggerate. But even if it had only been a kiss, that was more than Sweden liked. It was way more than he had expected when Finland said they would become 'friends'.

Sweden would want to hear Finland's version of it. If Finland would even tell him. Maybe he hadn't wanted Sweden to know in the first place? If that was the case… then Sweden would once more be seen as wanting to get too close, wouldn't he?

Finland would maybe think that Sweden wanted to scold him for his actions. Sweden was not sure if he would do this or if he could control himself. One thing was for sure – it would be hard to look Finland in the eye whenever they met again. Knowing that Russia had looked into them with lust and that they had, maybe, glistened with that exact feeling, not for him, Sweden, but for Russia; a man he was renowned for having hated for such a long time. Knowing that Russia had… had actually touched Finland, had made him emit sounds Sweden wished to pull from him. Knowing that Russia had had what Sweden longed for, even if he had only had it for a moment, was agonizing.

"Swe!"

The Swede looked up at Denmark and found shock printed in every feature of his face. Sweden looked back down when he felt a warm, tickling feeling in his right hand. Blood slowly trickled from where his fist met the table, surface cracked and shaped after his balled hand.

Finally, he had let it show. After years of holding his emotions for himself, he had finally let the mask fall and showed how he really felt about this. His gaze was fixed on the slowly pooling drops of red liquid.

Finland… lying with Russia. Finland's body… defiled by Russia's greedy touches. Finland… betraying him. It felt like betrayal. He knew it was stupid; he and Finland had nothing together, they were just friends. Sweden had no right to feel like this, it was ridiculous! Finland was a free man, he was free to do whatever or whoever he liked!

Then… why did it feel like this? Why did his heart ache so terribly, why did his breathing quicken and his glasses fog over? If Sweden had no reason to be this hurt, then why did he find Denmark's arms lightly wrapped around his bend body? Whose voice was it, then, that sounded so wretched it disgusted him?

Finland didn't have anything to prove to him. It was perfectly fine if he found those kinds of activities with Russia endearing but… Sweden's feelings wouldn't change. This cold hand that clenched his entrails in such a hard grip that they seemed to crush, his heart the most painfully, wouldn't let go.

"Swe…" The soft voice of Denmark reached him in between his own gasps and the rush of blood in his ears. There was no sign of the usual arrogance and superiority. It was all compassion and softness.

Warm water mixed with the blood, slid down his cheeks and blinded him even as the glasses were still on his nose. It dripped from his nose and into the pool that was gradually growing. His whole body shook and jerked with every pained sob that escaped him. He could feel the glasses be removed by a gentle hand. The world became even more blurry but he didn't try to retrieve them.

"How… how could he," Sweden gasped and the other hand grabbed around the table. The wood gave an ominous sound. "He… he knows… what I feel for… for both of them… why would he do it?" The last sentence was whispered, forced out between broken breaths. It was all he could do right now.

Denmark didn't answer. He didn't know what he should say. Instead, he stood beside Sweden, an arm gingerly laid over his shoulder and the hand stroking his upper arm.

Sweden noticed that Denmark was warm… Not as warm as Finland, but warm enough to keep the cold of despair at bay, just for a second. Suddenly, feeling childish and disgusted by himself, he awkwardly turned his huge body around and pulled Denmark into a tight embrace. The other stiffened momentarily before loosening up again. Then he hugged the Swede back, soothingly threading his fingers through the soft, blond hair.

The bigger man's body jerked against his, shaken by sobs and occasional whimpers. His hands irregularly tightened their grip of Denmark's coat, curling tightly before relaxing again. He didn't know what had gotten into him.

Why was he suddenly acting all up? He was behaving like a little child that had lost its most precious teddy bear.

His breathing still came out hard and troubled when he slackened the embrace, giving Denmark room to let go if he wished to. But Denmark didn't. Denmark still held him, still stood there and watched him with painfully compassionate eyes. He shouldn't look like this. His face should shine of mischief, of happiness. His people were one of the happiest on Earth; Denmark should reflect that, even now. He couldn't see all this clearly as he was practically blind, but he could sense it. It was to feel when Denmark was beside himself, for whatever reason.

Sweden's problems were nothing Denmark should worry the least bit about. It was all his. There was no one who could do anything about this – except for himself.

Trying to get his shaking under control, Sweden lifted a hand to wipe his eyes. He was too slow, however. Denmark had already taken Sweden's head between his hands and now softly stroked the red cheeks and brushed away tears lingering in the corners of puffy eyes.

"F-Förlåt," the Swede whispered with a broken voice, averting his eyes so he wouldn't look at the other. This was ridiculous! Childish, immature.

"Intet att be om ursäkt för," Denmark answered quietly, the Swedish coming naturally for him. He continued his soothing touches until Sweden no longer panted. When the breathing was somewhat normal again, the Dane got the other sit down while he fetched a glass of water and a towel.

"Dricka." He put the glass in Sweden's hand and lifted the other so he could wipe away the blood. Sweden drank a bit of the water and placed it on the table, looking at what he assumed was Denmark's head. He couldn't be sure, though; all he could see was a big blob of light colours.

They were silent for a while. Denmark had found another chair and sat down in front of the other, making sure he was okay. Or, as okay as you could be when such devastating news had been delivered to you. Sweden occasionally hiccupped or wiped his eyes again, as if wanting to make sure all signs of his emotional breakdown were gone. He snivelled a few times, breathed deeply and slowly got his composure back.

He pondered whether or not to reach for his glasses. At one point, he wanted to see again, and at another, he wasn't sure he wanted to meet Denmark's face. What could it possibly be showing? A grin that said 'Boy, I didn't know you could whine like a five year old!'? Compassion to such a degree that Swede felt weak and pathetic?

He postponed the need of an answer a bit longer by muttering a hoarse "Tack", to which Denmark said a quick "You're welcome." His Swedish was apparently not as rusty as he had thought.

Few minutes later, Sweden emptied his glass of water and asked for his glasses. They were instantly in his hands and he put them on after having wiped them in his shirt. His right hand hurt.

Looking at the Dane he found neither of what he had expected. There was compassion, yes, a soft shine in his eyes but it wasn't so strong Sweden felt mocked. There was an understanding glimpse, as well, that said that he understood why Sweden reacted as he did. An almost straight line, the mouth, though with the shadow of the corners tugging upward, said that it was perfectly fine. He hadn't expected much different.

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you," he mumbled and got himself a glass of water, refilling Sweden's when he was up anyway. "But I thought it would hurt you even more if Finland told you."

The very name made his stomach curl but he nodded as Denmark handed him his glass.

"Listen," he continued and moved a bit closer to the other, "I understand how you feel but if you think about it, Finland has been nothing but rude to you since this all started."

His eye twitched faintly but he didn't protest. Denmark had something to say; he could feel it.

"You only tried to protect from what you know Russia for – pain. In every single molecule of your body and every little crevice of your mind. That's what Russia does, in your opinion. You have never had reason to believe anything else and you did the most natural thing when you tried to hinder Finland in going there."

The Dane spoke slowly, the words clearly weighed carefully before rolling over his tongue. It was pretty clear that Denmark had no intention of hurting him. It was perhaps the thing he least wanted to do right now. Sweden was uncomprehending of why. He was used to mocking and jokes about him from the Dane. It was a mystery to him why he was suddenly being so friendly, determined to make him feel better.

"Finland responded with annoyance, if not directly anger, and he hurt you. I'm not sure if that was intentional or not, but no matter what, it was not fair to you. I understand that he wants his freedom but I don't think he understands just how you feel about him and Russia being friends. I don't think he's aware of his importance to you."

Sweden frowned. But that was impossible. He had made it very clear just how much Finland meant to him, and he had made it pretty damn clear that he wouldn't want a life without Finland in it. How was it not possible to understand? But now, he was not so sure of that second thought. Did he still want Finland in his life now, after knowing what Finland had done? Could it be that he had only done it to prove a point to him, Sweden?

Was this some sort of bizarre test he had to ace before Finland would love him? Was Finland testing him to see how much freedom he could have?

"The other option is," Denmark continued and snapped Sweden out of his thoughts, "that Finland doesn't care about you. I know it hurts to hear, and I'm so sorry for saying it but if that is the case – then you should stop worrying about him. You do so much for him and he hasn't done anything for you. For almost a week, he left you wondering how he had taken your confession. Impossible to get in contact with, he could have done anything."

Sweden nodded. That was true. He had been so afraid when Finland hadn't answered the door or even his calls.

"I know you love him more than live itself, and I know you would do anything for him, but listen, Swe, you should be together with someone who acknowledges that. You deserve to be with someone who returns that love and passion. If Finland can't appreciate that, then he doesn't deserve you."

The words hurt. They hurt badly. Finland was the only person he had ever desired to be with. There had been no one else in his life but him, and now he felt how painful it was to realize that it would most likely never be returned. Not in a thousand years.

Yet, Sweden knew that he would never stop loving Finland. No matter what scenario he could think of, his love for Finland would be intact. Even if Finland and Russia should… should… should become a couple, Sweden's burning love wouldn't die out.

In that moment, when Sweden realized anew he was hopelessly and endlessly in love with Finland, the man himself barged inside the house, a wild look in his eyes. He saw first Denmark, then Sweden. His eyes widened and his opened mouth closed, a word dying on his tongue.

The silence was tense enough that it could be cut through with a knife. Denmark looked from one man to the other, slowly sliding down from his chair before leaving the house. Finland looked after him for a second before Sweden also got onto the floor, straightening into his full height.

"Have you been crying?" Finland asked quietly after having studied the Swede's face.

"What would I have t' cry 'bout?" Sweden asked. His voice was perfectly calm and collected, as it always was. It carried no signs that he had cried not too long ago.

Finland hesitated and bowed his head, biting his lower lips. The Swede stared down at him, awaiting his answer. How as Finland going to answer? Would he try with a lie? Would he confess immediately? Say that he had wanted Denmark not to tell Sweden what he had been doing with Russia?

But the Finn never got to answer. Sweden grew tired of waiting. This kind of waiting was one he wasn't good at.

"Denmark told me 'bout ya 'n Russia."

The Finn's head immediately rose.

"What did he say?"

"Said ya slept with Russia." 'Please, tell me it isn't true. Tell me it's a misunderstanding!'

The man breathed deeply and already there, Sweden knew there was nothing to do. It really was true. Finland had had sex with Russia. Now there was no way to deny it, not even to himself. His heart silently wept. His eyes remained dry.

"I… I did. But I'm not in love with him or anything, I just… we were drinking, and… and one thing led to another, and…" He trailed off, not knowing what to say. Sweden's glare was as scrutinizing as ever. He held his tongue.

"I know you don't like him and all, but… Ber-"

"Please don't use m' human name."

The violet eyes widened enormously. Finland took a step back. His mouth opened slightly.

The cold hand was once more clenching Sweden's insides in such a hard grip they had to break.

Using a country's human name was a great, great honour. Being forbidden to use it was a sign of the opposite.

"I'm hurt. I know ya 'n I will never have anything but it hurts t' know ya're so good friends with him." There was nothing to do about it, he knew that. Finland had made great progress with his relationship with Russia, clearly, and he would never throw that overboard for Sweden.

And strangest of all was it that Sweden didn't want him to, either. Finland had spent so many years hating that guy, so when they had finally made up – even in an untraditional way – Sweden didn't want to ruin it for Finland.

"Would ya do it again?"

He was just asking for a punch to the stomach, just asking for Finland to crush the last remains of his heart. But he had to know. He didn't know why, he just had to know if Finland would have sex with Russia again.

He could fall in love with me.

"I-I don't know. I hadn't exactly planned to do it but… I just don't know, Swe. I can still call you that, right?"

Sweden nodded and let silence fall upon them again when Finland didn't immediately continue to talk. After a minute of silence, he finally did so.

"I swear, Swe, I would never have done it if I was sober. I was drunk and angry with you. My mind told me it would be a good way to…" He suddenly cut off, a hand flying up to cover his mouth and his eyes widened another bit.

Sweden squinted and his glare intensified. To what? What had Finland stopped himself from speaking? To get revenge? A good way to get back at him? A good way to make him jealous?

"I don't know what ya were 'bout t' say but I think yar mind was right."

"I… I'm sorry." It was but a whisper that filled the entire kitchen. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"Bu ya did. A lot. I haven't been this hurt for a long time, Fin."

I could make it happen, da.

Before he knew of it, Finland flung himself directly at Sweden and wrapped his thin arms around the bigger man's body, holding him tightly and burying his head in the other's clothes. Sweden was paralyzed for a second, then he couldn't help but return the embrace, pulling the small man close and leaning forward just a bit. He smelled so good. Fresh air, snow, a whiff of liquorice. The faint, almost unnoticeable scent of vodka.

Finland… his sweet, little Finland. A bird always in search of new adventures. It could never be. Sweden had had his adventures. He was too old, too settled for that. His mighty wings had long since been spread for the last time.

There was nothing to do but let go.


Translations:

F-Förlåt = S-Sorry (Swedish)
Intet att be om ursäkt för = Nothing to apologize for (Swedish)
Dricka = Drink (verb) (Swedish)
Tack = Thanks (Swedish)