That next morning Sweden took the ferry home. When he arrived back in Brussels, it was almost midnight. Berwald walked up to the white, door and started fidgeting in his pocket for the key. When he found it, he paused a moment.
Berwald stared at the brass handle. He could place money down on a bet, that the door was unlocked. She never did lock it, though time and time again he told her to do so. Berwald took in a deep breath of cold air and placed his hand on the cold metal, door knob.
It turned with ease and the door opened without making a sound. "Bel...", he groaned softly. The house was dark but warm. The warmer air hit his cheeks and he smiled. The smell of chocolate wafted under his nose. He was home.
He could hear her coughing upstairs. The place was clean but still felt empty. She had some furniture but the place still had a bare feeling to it. Bel never was into paintings and a few black and white pictures she did have, she kept in a photo album.
The stair way that led up to her room was dark, almost eerie. The echoes of her coughing pierced the subtleties of the home. Berwald quickly and yet quietly shut the door behind him setting down his duffel bag. He also began to quickly unbutton his coat.
Once he shrugged his blue wool over coat and took off his gloves, he hung it next to hers. Berwald made quick work of his military boots. Bending over and tugging at the laces and pulling the heavy leather boots off. His eyes never left the stairs. He was afraid she might venture down and spoil his surprise.
Once he was ready, he tip-toed up the stairs. Her bedroom door was even cracked open. Sweden shook his head as he opened the door further to reveal a restless Belgium trying to sleep.
Her thick, wool blankets scattered on top of her. Her golden locks of hair, sprawled out in a mess. Her lips were ruby red and her face was flushed white as the sheets bunched up around the sleeping beauty. Sweat beaded up on her brow and her breaths were shallow.
Her breathing was rasp, it worried him. Cool air hit his cheeks as the white curtains fluttered at him. He closed his eyes. She was running a fever and probably thought fresh air was the best. Sweden quickly walked over and closed the window.
Bel didn't even stir from the sounds. The woman rolled on her side and hugged a pillow in a dark green pillow case, to her chest. Sweden strolled over to her. He kept his foot steps light. He examined the sleeping nation before sitting next to her.
Sweden smiled. Even though she was sick, this was still more then what he could ask for. Berwald sat on the mattress. It creaked, and his weight forced the material down a little. Belgium stirred and groaned.
"Please let that be you, Sweden..." Her voice was barely a whisper but he still heard her. "Ja... It is..." She rolled over to face him. The light in her eyes was dull but he could still see flickers of happiness in the dark orbs.
"You're home... Unless I'm dreaming...", Belgium continued to whisper but a small smile from her lips graced him. "Nej, it's n't a dre'm... I'm h'me." Sweden leaned down and kissed her forehead. It was damp and burned his lips. "Yer run'n a f'ver." Berwald begun to pull wet, strands of hair from her forehead and cheeks as she nodded.
"I'm sorry... I should have listened to you." He couldn't stop smiling to save his life. Bel was as cute as a button when she was sick. His blue eyes briefly met her own eyes before she closed them. "I love you...", she said in a whisper. "Jag älskar dig också." Belgium's eyes closed slowly but her smile remained.
Sweden yawned and stretched before getting up to undress. He was home and it felt good for the first time in a long time. Berwald stared briefly at the female nation. She maybe sick, but it was nice to hear those words come from her lips. He had to admit he was still frightened but not nearly as bad from before. Relief swept over him as he began to unbutton his shirt.
Bel was in bed. His Belgium was where she promised she'd be. His eyes lit up with joy. Sweden swore under his hot breath, next time he'd take her with him. He never want to see her hurt herself due to neglect again.
Sweden hissed as cold air from the window being open, prior, nipped at his warm skin. He was quick to slide in bed next to his sleeping wife. Her nude body burned like hot metal and it was sticky from sweating. Her fever burned like coals on a fire.
He kissed her bare shoulder as she shifted away from him, allowing him more access to slide further under the covers. His hand traveled on it's own will, rubbing and caressing the sleeping nation's body. She shifted and moaned as he felt her curves. He wanted to becareful not to disturb her to much, though it would have been nicer if she hadn't been sick.
Sweden couldn't stop smiling no matter how hard he tried. She was real and waiting for him. He shifted a pillow under his head and watched her sleep the whole night. He was her dream come true and she was his...