Chapter Two, Liar
Norway takes his coffee without sugar or milk. He tries to enjoy the quite. He tries to hear the birds. He brushes his hair out of his face. He holds his arms to his chest. He hits another shiver of disappointment, of sadness.
Iceland's been over to comfort him, but he's not much for conversation. So he sips his coffee alone and tries not to make his life a pity party. The only problem is that the only person he wants to comfort him is the person he's mad at. It's been four days since he saw Denmark.
Norway opened his door to get the paper. It had been two weeks since Denmark told him he cheated on him. And here sat the Dane, sniffling, holding his coat around himself. He quietly asks if he could come in.
It's been two weeks and Norway is feeling his most vulnerable. He says yes.
Denmark sits at Norway's kitchen table. Norway, without thinking, makes him coffee. Denmark thanks him. He sips it. The sun trickles down.
"I know things are broken, Norge…" Denmark trails off. Norway keeps his face blank. "We left so many things unsaid. I never told you... I never told you how much I love the way you look in the morning, I… I never learned enough Norwegian to understand you when you're mad. I…"
Norway sits his cup down. He's final in his resolve.
Norway tucks his leg under him. Takes a sip of his drink. He's composed. Except for the sniffling, except his hand is shaking.
"I know," Denmark whimpered, hanging his head in shame, "You've made up your mind…I'm so in the wrong here. I can't explain it, Norge, How sorry I am-"
Denmark was cut off but the very sudden but not unwelcome Norway pressed against his chest.
Norway had cracked. Norway pressed his head into Denmark's shoulder, shaking, slightly. Iceland was right. He was heartbroken.
Denmark gasped slightly. He wrapped two, very large, very warm arms around the smaller Nordic. Norway shook, so upset.
Denmark buried his nose in Norway's hair.
Norway in the morning shook with hatred at the memory. He hated himself. He hated Denmark. He hated everything.
Norway distinctly remembered the way Denmark's body shook when he started to cry. He remembered what it felt like to pull away from him. He wanted to stomp on his foot, to smack him.
"Don't you dare. Don't you DARE cry. Don't you dare cry, you fucking…," Norway wiped one of his own tears away, "Please don't cry, you liar."
Denmark gaped in shock.
Norway set his coffee down, crossed his legs, tried not to cry there. Tried not to remember what Denmark's face looked like as Norway went off.
Denmark was flinching, "I'm not a liar, Norge I-".
Norway slammed his hand onto the table, "How about I count the ways you lied to me. 'Oh, Norge, I love you' you said. What about all the times you- you… You held my hand, or we raised Iceland, or…" Norway was reduced to trying to get a hold of how angry he was. In his mind, he saw all of the moments.
He saw Denmark, stroking his hair as he woke up.
He saw Denmark feeding him soup when he was sick.
But mostly, he saw Denmark saying he would always love him.
And then he saw Denmark in bed with Netherlands. Or Belarus. Or Belgium. He had never asked, which only made seeing it worse.
Norway dug his fingernails into his thigh. The thought of Denmark… kissing and hugging and sleeping with someone else left his stomach in knots. Left his teeth on edge. Made his chest burn with such uncontrollable loss that he couldn't stand the images. He wanted to know everything, the where, the when, the who, the how. But mostly the why. His pride wouldn't let him ask these questions. His heart begged him to.
Norway watched Denmark get control of his sobs. He wanted to see Denmark the way he used to, and if he focused, just right, he could. As Denmark walked for the door, Norway took his arm, and stood on tip toes to kiss him, one last time. His fingers still hadn't warmed from the cold.
It wasn't fair, Norway thought, Denmark begging to come back. It wasn't fair. How could Norway resist Denmark after wanting things to be right, after hurting so bad.
Norway hates how much he loves him.
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