This is a patchwork chapter, so it includes all four main characters' perspectives. Enjoy!
Lukas
It would take them a few days to reach Iceland, but there was always the risk of bad weather this time of year which would lengthen their journey. It had actually been fairly difficult to find anyone willing to take them, even though the presence of German U-boats in the area had been decreasing. Or at least, that's what they heard. It was hard to trust anything anymore, but it was war.
Still, regardless of the threat of being sunk by Germans or by an angry sea god, Lukas couldn't help but think that there was nothing quite like being at sea. It was simply a different world. The feeling of timelessness brought on by a watery horizon on all sides always got to him the way few other things could, but once the mystical feeling began to fade into the background of his mind, the lapping waves tugged forward thoughts he had intended to suppress.
Mathias was primary subject of his mind, and this annoyed him intensely. He was like that, though; Mathias demanded attention and Lukas loathed giving it to him, even though he obviously did it anyway. He had yet to act out since they had gotten aboard the rocking vessel, however. Lukas was certain that this put him even more on edge.
Heavy boots sounded near him, and he tensed before he recognized Berwald's figure draped in his long coat passing him slowly, as if trying not to startle him. He didn't pause, and he didn't speak, but Lukas knew what he would ask. He would ask if he was alright, and Lukas would give an affirmative answer, coupled with an insult. That's how Berwald would know he was speaking truthfully. But he didn't ask, he just watched him for a moment and continued on, leaving him in peace.
If it could be called that, he scoffed silently.
With a deeper, heavier breath Lukas let his head fall a bit and stared into the blue-grey water that churned irately just off deck. Above him, thinly stretched clouds, nearly the same dull color as the sea, hung silently in the sky, as if to balance against the noisy waters below. Lukas liked how everything seemed to have balance at sea, but after a moment he felt as though this balance was becoming rather intense. He found himself likening the strange feeling of the worlds above and below him reflecting each other to the feeling of being caught in the center of an hourglass. Surrounded by endless motion, though able to maintain balance.
He shook his head hard to rid his mind of such a weird thought. His brain seemed to resort disturbing, poetic similes when he was stressed.
After a moment of fixing his eyes on a particular part of the boat to steady himself, he felt the rocking and the sounds of the waves lulling him once again, and his thoughts began to wander. Annoyingly, they didn't have far to wander before they centered on something very specific.
Mathias. Damn him.
He knew Mathias saw the effects Berwald still had on him, and he knew that drove him to try harder to have the same influence, but Lukas had to give his consent for such a thing to happen. Until Mathias realized that, he was determined not to let him have the slightest bit of control over his actions. His thoughts were a different matter entirely, but Mathias couldn't see those nor could Lukas stop them, so he now allowed himself to consider them.
Still, he knew the more he resisted the Dane's advances the more elaborate and obvious they would become, but he tried not to care. He could ignore anything he wanted to, even Mathias. Lukas closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. God, if he hadn't been so stupid, if he just hadn't kissed him, this wouldn't be happening. Mathias wouldn't be striving to get reactions out of him and he wouldn't be so stressed about it. It had been such an idiotic thing to do. Still, in utter spite of himself, he felt his fingers drop from between his eyes to his lips. Secretly, he thought that if that damned kiss had been any better, he might have just declared all of this trouble worth it. Might have. Just maybe.
Mathias
The cold of the North Sea whipped passed him harshly, but it felt good. Exciting, even. When he finally plucked a breath from the wild, swirling wind, he forced his eyes opened wide, despite their immediate want to squint instead. He was exhilarated, just from the waves, just from the wind.
The sun was dipping low, seeming just a bit smaller now. Maybe it was all in his head, but he remembered how dark Iceland could get. For now though, there was a bright array of colors thrown haphazardly across the sky and the waves. Others might have thought it to look gentle and calming, but watching the way the break of the waves caught fire in the orange light…he just wanted to go faster.
Tino suddenly appeared at his elbow, beaming from just above a lightly colored scarf. His hair seemed to catch fire, too. Mathias looked down at him before throwing his arm around the short Finn and yanking him close.
"It's beautiful," Tino told him in a voice that would have been a whisper if he could have heard it over the wind.
Mathias grinned. Watching the sunset with little Tino. He was someone who would think of it as gentle and calming. Mathias was watching the North Sea burn, and he laughed loudly as the wind snatched the sound away.
When the sun finally dipped low enough that the fires began to go out, Mathias let out his breath as his heart rate began to slow; it was over too soon, it always was. The wind was still as wild, but felt a bit colder now that the sea once again looked like, well, water. He sniffed and turned around, hooking his arms behind the railing as he leaned against it.
"What's the matter?" Tino asked him.
It wasn't a sudden question, but he hadn't been expecting it, and therefore made it feel sudden.
He blinked stupidly before realizing that he had been frowning. "Huh? Oh. I don't like night at sea. It makes ya think."
Tino leaned his side against the railing with a smile that could be described as dreamy. "What are you thinking about?"
Mathias opened his mouth to make up something about how he used to sail with his brothers and his grandpa, but then closed it. Tino always seemed to be able to catch him in his habitual lies. So instead he looked down, feeling rather bashful to actually get to say it.
"Lukas," he mumbled sheepishly.
Tino probably only understood the softly spoken word because it was the answer he had been expecting, and he nodded with an enduring smile. "Ah. What about him?"
That smile seemed nearly smug now, though.
Mathias took a deep breath, tilting his head back a bit. "He hates me."
Tino giggled. "He doesn't hate you."
"Yes, he does,"
"No, he doesn't."
Mathias raised his eyebrows at him, unconvinced.
"He's probably just adjusting; I'm sure he'll come around once we're settled." Tino assured him.
The wind was quieter for a moment as they were silent, and then Mathias became aware that he could hear the quiet sound of someone else's voice, and looked around. Tino's eyes followed, and they both spotted Ludwig and Berwald standing a ways away; the shorter German appearing to scold the Swede as he unwrapped the scarf around his neck and retied it much neater. Berwald's blush was visible even from where Mathias and Tino were standing.
Mathias wanted to shout at them, maybe tell them to get a room; it would definitely make Berwald redder. But, Tino gave that before-speaking breath, and he looked at him instead.
"You want to be affectionate with Lukas?" it wasn't a question.
Still, he nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."
"…Maybe you should wait for him to make a move," Tino offered with a gentle but enthusiastic smile.
Mathias blinked in surprise, and then he turned around and dropped his body on the railing. "I'll die before he does,"
Tino laughed again, which made him smile even though he didn't want to. He wanted to whine about how it wasn't fair, but the short man at his side made him grin.
"Just try it, couldn't make your situation any worse, right?" he winked.
"…That's mean," Mathias frowned as Tino walked away, possibly giggling again.
When Tino had gone, he stared back out at the darkening sea. He could try waiting. Being patient was not something he did often tried willingly, but Lukas just might respond to something like that. Come to think of it, Berwald was pretty damn patient…
Ludwig
Only the brightest stars shone through the thin veil of clouds and after a while Ludwig's neck grew tired, and he turned his gaze down into the inky waters below. He wasn't sure how the others slept so peacefully at sea. They all had been crammed together side by side in a tiny sleeping hold, which had made escape nearly impossible. Yet, somehow everyone had fallen asleep quickly and deeply, and he had even accidently stepped on Mathias and the Dane hadn't woken up. Scandinavians.
As he stared down over the side of the boat, he felt the cold slithering into his clothes. Absently, he wondered if his chilled flesh pressed up against Berwald's back would be enough to wake him up. It hadn't woken up the soldiers he used to sleep beside, when he left and returned the same temperature as the winter wind, but with a strange feeling he reminded himself that he was not sleeping beside soldiers any longer. He was not a soldier any longer.
Despite everything, every reason he might have had to feel glad or relieved, he only felt wretched. He was supposed to be a soldier. He was supposed to be fighting. Ludwig covered his eyes, frowning as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He wasn't supposed to be here.
It all had just gone so wrong so quickly. With a shaky breath he realized that if he hadn't jumped, if he had stayed and been obedient like how he had been taught to be his entire life, he would be dead, or worse. He didn't know what had been said about him, he didn't know why, but in those few moments he wondered if it was really better to have escaped. He would always be a soldier who deserted, but it was more than that. He turned his back on his home, his history, and his family. His last name was no longer his to carry, along with anything else he had with him when he had escaped the train. The symbol upon his jacket…
After seeing England, after witnessing the horror of the bombings, and even after hearing of things he knew had been purposefully kept from him, the thought that he turned his back on the country he swore to fight for still made him sick. It all felt wrong. It would have been wrong to stay, but it was also wrong to leave. There was no lesser evil.
Suddenly, he didn't want to see Iceland. He didn't want to go back to England, either. Ludwig wasn't even sure he could have handled going back to Sweden. There was no escape from this war. Not anywhere. He couldn't believe that was something he was only understanding now, but then he realized that up until this year,he had been the war. He was the soldier that had marched forward, carrying a symbol that he could no longer name nor describe because he didn't know what it was any longer. A symbol of hope and pride that had turned to one of terror and hatred.
Ludwig briefly considered hopping the railing; he was certain his sins would be heavy enough to drag him to the bottom. But, the moment passed, and the cold was too intense now, and perhaps he even felt tired. So, he headed back down to where five men and a dog were stashed, sleeping side by side. As he removed his boots, jacket, and scarf his eyes fell over what he could see of each of their faces.
They didn't hate him. Even Lukas and Emil seemed to like him in their own ways. A strange feeling washed over him as he realized that if he had jumped, they would have turned the damned boat around and would have searched for him, even though their path was dangerous enough as it was. The feeling seemed to tighten around his chest and his eyes fell to Berwald. He wouldn't have stopped searching for him, even when there would be no chance of survival, he wouldn't give up.
Some form of shame pressed down on him, and he swallowed hard as he quietly moved back to his place between Mathias and Berwald. They both shifted, but not enough to signal that they were conscious. Ludwig scooted as close as he physically could to the Swede, pressing his forehead between his shoulder blades. The small dog, Hana, awoke at that, however, and as Ludwig settled down, she practically crawled over Berwald's face in order to curl up beside his shoulder. Another night, he might have laughed, but he just petted the tiny creature before closing his eyes. Before he fell back asleep, however, he felt Berwald's hand come to take his.
Berwald
His dream was of that night. Of the blood, and the fear. God, it had all happened so fast. But in his dream, it was slow. Nightmarishly slow. It forced him to meet each of their eyes. He remembered the colors.
It seemed to last all night and when he finally awoke, covered in a cold, sickly sweat. Berwald sat up and rubbed his face, trying to regain control over his breathing and counting backwards in Swedish. When he opened his eyes, he saw mostly just blurs of color, but it was enough to suggest that it was nearly time for the sun to rise. Tired and still on edge from his dreams, he rolled over and tried to force himself to fall back asleep. The attempt was futile, but he was tired, and didn't want to go wander around this early in the morning.
His head was still full of violent images, and every time he closed his eyes he was reminded of those men he had killed. He could see feel the fear, that horrifying terror that drove him to fire at the first man. It had almost seemed easier after that. Berwald's body gave a sick shutter and he forced himself to hold his eyes open.
As the pale light began to illuminate their small sleeping quarters, however, he found himself confronted with a surprisingly different image. Ludwig was curled up with Hana, and both of them had their mouths opened just enough for Berwald to see their pink tongues. They both looked so calm.
He tucked his arm beneath his head after putting on his glasses, forgetting sleep almost entirely.
Dawn breaking at sea was always a magnificent sight, and was something that had always comforted Berwald somehow, but it didn't compare to this. It didn't compare to the way Ludwig's blond hair was messily strewn across his forehead and the pillow while Hana's ears seemed to flop over as if to mimic a sleepy hairstyle. Their soft breathing, the way Ludwig's brow was smooth and relaxed, the adorable way both of their noses occasionally twitched, any single aspect of this moment was more precious to Berwald than seeing a sunrise, no matter how stunning. Sleeping Ludwig was one of his favorite things. Sleeping Hana was now a close second.
After a while of watching, however, Berwald was able to see that Ludwig was starting to frown a bit. He didn't grumble or shift or give any other indication that he was dreaming darkly, but he had been a soldier, and Berwald knew it made sleeping soundly more difficult. Unsure of how best to comfort him, he was intending to reach over and perhaps touch his arm or shoulder. But to his surprise, the moment he raised his hand, Ludwig's own captured it and held it securely against his chest. Berwald held completely still, but was able to see the crease of his brow relax again when he didn't pull away.
Slowly, Berwald began to smile, and after a little while of being gently rocked by the waves and being able to feel Ludwig's slow heartbeat, he found himself dozing off again. Maybe Iceland wouldn't be so bad this time.
Once awakened, and after they had all eaten breakfast, everyone separated. But, they each found themselves returning one by one, as if unconsciously seeking out each other's company. They sat together and joked and talked, and for those short few days before they reached Iceland, they each found themselves feeling as though the war was a world away.