Summary: A disagreement caused Estonia and Finland to go their separate ways; after some time, they decide to reconcile. Rated E for Everyone.

Notes: This was part of a 500-word flash-fiction challenge. Originally written October 11 2009; revised July 04 2010.

Whitecaps

The wind blew gently. Its sound was hushed, kissing his ears, brushing through his hair as he looked out at the water. Estonia breathed in, considered, watched, wondered. It had been a while. When had he last seen him? Longer than he would have liked. Too long, perhaps.

He remembered their last conversation. They had stood on a sandy shore on a bright day, the sun warming their faces, the water rippling just gently as the wind played on it. Finland had taken a stick and drawn in the sand with its pointed end. He sketched out what they knew of the land, scribbling out territory, defining boundaries.

Strange how only a few words could make something go wrong. A remark stating no, that wasn't right, no really that isn't where that part ends, yes I'm sure, let me do it. When the stylus was handed to him he remedied the problem, but Finland shook his head. Said no, that's wrong, it doesn't end there, you drew that border too far north.

Strange, how sometimes they just couldn't agree. Strange, after that day they hadn't really spoken. Hadn't seen each other.

Estonia licked his lips and brought his chilly hands close to his mouth, blowing on them. It had been a few months since they had last seen each other. It wasn't unusual to go a few months without meeting, he reminded himself. The thought did little to reassure him. They had parted on a sour note, neither willing to admit that the other one was correct, nor willing to say that perhaps they had been mistaken, nor desiring to come to a compromise.

It was silly, really. Ridiculous. Estonia nibbled his lower lip and thought on it. There really hadn't been any good sense in that.

The twisting of his guts told him that really, it didn't matter. Perhaps Finland had been right, or perhaps not, but Estonia didn't care.

It didn't matter.

He ached to see him.

Finland chewed his lower lip and looked out at the water. It was choppy, whitecapped, rising and falling, and horribly cold too, no doubt. The sky was grey, the very sun chilled. A bit early in the year for all this, he thought.

Rubbing his hands together, he considered the wind, the clouds that looked almost like the kind to bring snow, building up and up, slowly. Deep inside, under those thoughts, he knew that he was distracting himself from what he really wanted to think about. It had been a long time since he had last seen Estonia.

He couldn't even remember what they had argued about. Some stupid, petty thing. Even so, superficial though it was, they had left each other irritated, going in different ways, the sand churned at the spot of their disagreement.

Stupid, that, and not much like either of them.

I should go see him, Finland thought. He missed him, his smile and talk, the sound of him singing.

The sea said quite plainly that he wouldn't leave that day. It didn't matter. The next, if the air was sweet and the weather was good. It had been too long.