Polish
Disclaimer: If Axis Powers Hetalia were mine, I wouldn’t need to write fanfics. If any of these songs were mine, I wouldn’t be writing fanfics.
Background music: Shiksa (Girlfriend) - Say Anything
Minimal fluff 09!
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Polish
The doorknob rattled; the poor door absolutely pummeled with force. “Hello! I’m here! I really don’t care if we’re going to be late but I’d love it not to just be standing out here!”
Norway tisked, pausing as she leaned forward toward the mirror on her dresser, lip gloss tube in hand. “Ice, just let her in already.” Flipping the long, straw golden tresses of curls over her shoulder to avoid getting them stuck to her lips, Norway continued the morning as if nothing happened.
Ice, her younger sister, grimaced slightly. “I don’t know why you’re friends with her. She’s so annoying. She does this every morning.”
“I know, but just let her in or she won’t shut up.”
Ice, who strived to be different from her sister in every way, ran her fingers through her shoulder length snowy silver hair before sighing loudly, an outward show of her dissatisfaction. When Norway didn’t respond, she sighed again before storming down the stairs.
“Hello-o-o!”
“Shut up!” Norway smiled slightly, as not to mess up her current work, as she heard Ice practically rip the front door off its hinges. There was another loud greeting before Ice’s normally quiet voice shredded the air with unladylike expletives and a loud scuffle could be heard in the hallway.
“Go and die, see if I care!” she heard Ice scream before bringing her bad mood into the kitchen.
“Nor!” There was a fast shuffling up the stairs, as if the bearer was impatient with such trifle things. Norway exhaled carefully, closing her eyes; she could feel a headache coming on.
“Hey! I thought you’d gone and moved the way no one answered the door!” Denmark, her obnoxiously loud and irritably tall friend, leaned in the doorway, cocking her head playfully as she smirked. Her hair, which was always a mess of flax and tangles, had been made even more so; today, in the week of apparent crazy hairstyles, she had tied a badly done pigtail to one side of her head. Norway didn’t know why she bothered; Denmark’s hair was even shorter than Ice’s, but she continued insisting that her styles were so good they were holy.
“Anyway,” the girl continued, the attention span already shifting faster than plate tectonics, “what’re you still doin’ in here? By the time I get around, you’re always downstairs just waitin’ for me with a scowl and a cup of coffee? Ice’s coffee isn’t as good as yours. I think she spits in mine.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Norway said bluntly, brushing her bangs out of her face and fastening them behind her ear with a sleek, cross-shaped barrette. She had given up trying to straighten a little bit of hair that curled up close by; no matter how much heat she applied, it continued springing forth with all its glory. She let the golden tresses fall over her shoulders and stared in the mirror; if she didn’t know better, she’d say she looked especially pretty today.
“Aw, now you’re so pretty, like always! Alright, can we go eat now? I’m starving!” Denmark pranced deeper into the room, grabbing Norway and hugging her from behind (and messing up her painstakingly finished hair) and smashing her (annoyingly one cup size larger) boobs against her
back. “We need to stop Ice from cooking. She burns everything she gives me!”
“Put me down!”
Denmark complied, grinning as she put her hands to her hips. The school had a loose dress code,
for “the exploration of the students’ personal styles”, which meant the girls had a different combination of uniforms at their arsenal. Denmark rarely changed hers up, unlike most of the girls who liked to impress the boys with unpredictable changes; she wore the school issued sweater (and awkwardly, nothing underneath) and the brick-colored skirt, rolled up at mid-thigh (one half centimeter and it would be out of dress code) to show off her legs honed from years of basketball and running. Ever the athletic one, she showed an almost competition spirit outside of the field. Today, she frowned as she observed her friend.
“You’re wearing makeup,” she accused, pointing a condemning finger at Norway’s face. “You never wear makeup! Alright! Tell me! What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Norway tossed her head in defiance. “I can wear whatever I want whenever I want.”
“Lies!” Denmark shouted, throwing her hands in the air. Her voice had not changed, keeping its usual loud, hyper quality. Pacing along the aquamarine carpet, she started her analysis. “First of all, when I hugged you today, you smelled like peaches. You never smell like peaches. Your usual conditioner smells like citrus. I know. I’ve used it.”
And horrifically so. The last time Denmark had showered at their house, she’d pranced around naked
for at least an hour until Ice forced clothes over her head.
“Second, I see you’ve painted your nails. You never do anything like that. You think it’s a waste of
time. You told me so when I painted mine bright orange. Since then, I haven’t touched my flawless cuticles. Third, you’re wearing the sailor combination uniform, when you know it makes you look the cutest. Fourth…” Denmark paused in her list, staring into space as if trying to grope for another reason. “Fourth…well, I just know so! You’ve got to tell me!”
Norway crossed her arms, a sly smirk on her face. “I won’t tell you anything.”
“Oh, please, Nor! Just a little hint! You owe your big sister!” Denmark switched tactics, from investigative Sherlock to pleading mistress.
“You’re not my sister.”
“Oh, please! I want to know! I want to know all my best friend’s endeavors, no matter what they may be! I can help you in any way!” Denmark crossed the space between them and grabbed Norway’s shoulders in a sister-sister ‘we-gotta-talk’ way. A scowl settled on her face. “You must like someone. Tell me who.”
“My lips are sealed,” Norway insisted.
“Damn well they are! And glossed too!” Denmark raised a finger and smeared the sparkly lip gloss across Norway’s cheek, earning her an angry glare and a fierce push. As Denmark fought to maintain balance again, Norway crossed over to the mirror again. “Oh, come on, Norway. Just tell me.”
“Just a little hint?”
“I’ll use the hint and my deductive abilities to solve this mystery.”
Norway squeezed a bit of gloss from the tube. “He’s in the third year.”
“Damn, girl! There are tons of boys one year older than us! You’ve got to do better than that.”
Denmark leaned against the wall, watching Norway apply lippy. “Oh, don’t tell me. Not England. That
boy creeps me out.”
Norway snorted. “Yeah,” she said sarcastically. “I’m interested in the boy who’s being sexually
harassed by sexual deviant America, who may I point out has the biggest ego and the smallest chest of the second year.”
“Not Germany? Or Spain?”
“Taken by the Vargas twins. They’ll claw my eyes out with those manicured nails of theirs.”
Denmark tapped her chin thoughtfully. “France is the biggest pervert, so it can’t be him,” she reasoned. “Um…Japan’s in our year, and besides, he’s sleeping with that third year girl who breathes cats…I don’t know. I also know it can’t be Russia. Because Russia’s he/she.”
Norway rolled her eyes, capping the lip gloss and turning to her friend with a serious expression.
“You must be the dumbest girl I know, Denmark. You give blondes a bad name. And since I’m a nice girl myself, I’ll give you a hint; he’s on the basketball team.”
As Denmark scanned her internal data drives, Norway had already descended the stairs and was gratefully accepting a plate of eggs when the storming of stairs reoccurred and Denmark practically flew into the kitchen. “No!” she cried, more surprised than angry. “Not Sweden!”
Norway said nothing; only forked eggs in her mouth as Ice threw down a plate of burned eggs before Denmark.
“No! You know I hate him! Ah! I hate him so much! He always thinks he’s better than me because I’m
a girl! He’s an egotistical brat, I tell you, Nor! He is a sexist! A sexist, I tell you!” Denmark sat down and started eating the eggs, oblivious to their charred state. “Any girl who’s met him will know that! A sexist!”
“Be quiet,” Ice snarled, who had known of Norway’s plan much earlier than Denmark.
“I won’t let you!” Denmark announced, flourishing her fork. “I would not be a protector of women’s rights if I let you make a pass at him! And for god’s sake, don’t you know that Finland’s practically waiting for him to propose to her? Finland! Finland!”
“So?” Norway tossed her head again, casting another waft of peach into the air. “Finland’s just another girl. I can crush her easier than I can crush you.”
Denmark sputtered, and not because the eggs had become crumby in her mouth. “Sweden won’t like
you,” she shouted, pointing the prongs of the fork at Norway. “He doesn’t show affection, and even if he did, he’s been spending more time with Finland than you. So what if you two became friends because of that stupid upperclassmen buddy system. So what?”
“We’re going to be late,” Norway said breezily, wiping her mouth carefully and hitching her school bag over her shoulder. “Thanks for the food, Ice, it was delicious.”
“Are you listening to me?” Denmark shrieked, running after her gorgeous friend sauntering down the path. Ice grumbled as she collected the dirty plates; she knew she should have slipped the rat poison into Denmark’s food.
--
Denmark followed her friend all day in between classes, watching Norway talk to Ice, then to Finland (how dare she, practically smile angelically to her rival!!). Skittering against the wall and not caring if boys peeked under her skirt when she bent over to peek around the corner, she silently stalked her friend through the halls of the high school.
Aha! She had spotted them! Sweden, just exiting a lab classroom, had been eagerly accosted by
Norway, who (to Denmark’s dismay) had unbuttoned her school shirt enough to show modest cleavage. Skank! But Denmark was too preoccupied with the conversation she was sneaking closer to overhear than Norway’s compromised purity.
“Sweden,” the second year was saying, “I know we have a lunch period together, can we possibly
have a little chat about the upperclassmen buddy luncheon we’re going to have in a bit?”
Sweden shrugged, a man of few words. “We can grab lunch elsewhere,” he suggested, (to Denmark) showing off his senior privileges. Norway smiled extra charmingly, tugging on her collar seemingly absentmindedly but slyly showing a bit of her bra.
“That would be great. You don’t need to worry about coming back on time…I haven’t got a class after lunch…”
Closing her mouth before she could utter a war cry, Denmark flashed into the scene, looping an arm through Norway’s. “Hi, Sweden,” she said, smiling a tight, fake grin. “Now nice of you to find my friend.”
“Denmark,” Sweden acknowledged with a nod.
“Norway!” Denmark said, mock cheerfully, reaching over to carefully loop a few buttons back through their holes on her friend’s shirt. “I heard you’re planning to go to lunch with Sweden? How about I tag along?”
“Why would you want to?” Norway sniffed, giving her an icy look. “And anyway,” she continued, turning away and cascading through Denmark’s startled face a wave of golden hair, “you have class
during my lunch block.”
--
Yes, she was the epitome of utter failure and anguish.
Ice, who had been (unluckily) in the same lunch period as Denmark, had found herself assaulted by her sister’s unhappy friend as she was ready to enjoy a peaceful lunch alone. Denmark trudged over to the table, looking absolutely sullen and plunked herself next to the disgruntled first year. The pigtail had already loosened itself from the mess of hair and the hair tie was hanging limply on a few locks of hair. “I have failed your sister, Ice. I’m sorry.”
“What are you bitching about?” Ice asked, trying not to act angry.
“Nor. She’s gone on a lunch date with Sweden.” Denmark groaned loudly, a sound almost comparable to a belch. Ice crinkled her nose; only her strange sister would befriend such unruly girls like Denmark. Unruly girls who screamed when they talked, wore ungodly short shorts in winter, and basically ruined the meaning of all girlhood.
“So? If she’s happy, then I’m okay.” Ice bit into her apple with malice.
“But it’s Sweden,” Denmark moaned, as if it was reason enough. She rested her forehead on the table, smelling like cleaning liquid, when Russia hopped up to the table. Ice almost made another face.
“Hi, Ice!” the heavyset girl chirped, slapping her tray on the table. “Is this spot taken?” Before Ice could respond, Russia had already sat down, wrapping her scarf further around her neck so it didn’t get in the way. Ever since Ice had come to the high school, Russia had taken it upon herself to be the reluctant girl’s surrogate sister. Smiling widely, Russia turned to Denmark. “What’s gotten
Denmark’s panties in a knot?”
“Norway’s eating lunch with Sweden,” Denmark groaned. The lunch periods overlapped and she would have to wait ten more minutes before seeking her friend out to check if she still retained her innocence. But that wouldn’t happen. Would it? No!
“Oh, puppy love,” Russia cooed, oblivious to Denmark’s depression. She rested her cheek against her hand. “But you’re so unhappy! Why? I’d think if my best friend was off with a potential boyfriend, I would be happy for her!” She glanced at Ice, who pretended to be invisible.
“But you don’t know Sweden,” Denmark cried, wringing her hands with frustration. “He’s a womanizer! He’s a bastard! He wears glasses! What could Norway see in him?” She groaned again, as if pained, and slammed her forehead against the table.
“You don’t happen to like Sweden, do you?” Russia asked, in all honesty. “You’re showing the signs
of a jealous other girl.”
“I hate him!” Denmark retorted, looking up to scowl. “Whenever I’m on the court, he just loves to
show off to tell both teams how much better he is than me.” She huffed. “Well, he thinks being a basketball star gets all the girls? Why, I’ve got a lot of guys running after me too!”
“Is that so?” Ice asked, stabbing more salt into the wound.
“They’re just shy, that’s all!” Denmark asserted. “Anyway, that’s not the point. Norway’s such a sweet, adorable girl, and she really decides to stoop as low as Sweden?” Denmark shook her head, flinging the hair tie elsewhere. “I really need to talk some sense into that girl.”
Glancing at the watch on her wrist, Denmark suddenly shot up. “They must be back. I have to see how she is.” Dashing off like a father rushing to save his daughter’s purity, Denmark sprinted out of the lunchroom.
“Oh, drama!” Russia sang, unnoticing Ice’s cringe. “So, Ice, since we’re on the topic, who do you like?”
--
Norway was fine. She was untouched. Her blouse was slightly undone again (how had that happened? Next time, Denmark swore she would use tape) but otherwise the lip gloss was still there, the hair was not mussed, and Norway had smiled mysteriously and said, “I think I’m going to tell him how I feel after school.”
Doomsday!
Rushing out of her last period class, Denmark made her way down the hallway of lockers, urgently scanning the numerous heads to find Norway. She skirted over America making a pass at England in a much-too-short skirt, the younger Vargas twin piggybacking on Germany, Korea groping China yet again (it was China’s fault for having such a…mature body) - the dark haired girl was screaming again. But no Norway.
No Sweden either. She had found Finland, who smoothed her skirt at the mention of Sweden’s name. “No, I’m sorry, I haven’t seen him,” she said, biting her lip nervously. “I’ll tell him you were looking for him, Denmark.”
They must have escaped! Throwing caution to the winds, Denmark ran through the entire ground floor, feeling a breeze lift her skirt but not caring if Prussia whistled and shouted a comment about her Viking ship patterned panties. God, she really wished she had the hair tie back to tie up her hair, which was flopping in her face again. Running up the stairs, Denmark looked down the hall to see Sweden and Norway a distance away, her friend standing coyly as Sweden opened the doors of the library for her.
“Nor…!”
Ice appeared out of nowhere, grabbing her arm and pulling her into an empty classroom. Struggling, Denmark tried to worm her way out of Ice’s grip, opening her mouth to scream when Ice clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Not a word, Denmark, or I’ll tie your tubes without anesthesia.” Ice carefully listened, before poking her head out the door. The coast was clear.
“Ice!” Denmark whispered loudly. “You can’t be approving of Norway liking Sweden, can you!” She hissed to herself, her plot foiled by stupid little Ice, who was surely going to drag her off the school
grounds now.
But Ice was pulling her toward the library, taking silent steps like the quiet girl she was. Denmark raised her eyebrows but said not a word as Ice slid the doors to the library open and snuck in, pulling the lanky and definitely ungraceful girl behind her. There was a pair of voices deeper into the library and the two crept through aisles to get closer.
“…and I called you here to tell you…” Norway was saying, and the two girls tiptoed to the aisle next door. Denmark peeked through the cracks of the books and saw Norway had rolled her skirt up higher than before. Carefully painted nails were playing with the blue hem of the skirt. “I…I like you, Sweden.”
Denmark almost gasped, but taking in breath would give her away. She’d never heard Norway be so straightforward about something! It was unusual. And Norway didn’t sound nervous or anxious at all, as if it was just a line to be recited. Sometimes, her pretty friend astounded her. Ice placed a finger to her lips, a reminder to be quiet.
There was a pause, where Denmark sent a thousand prayers, before Sweden finally answered. “I’m sorry. You must have misinterpreted things. I only think of you as a friend.” Sweden seemed to slow on the last part, as if he wasn’t sure of what he was saying. Denmark opened her mouth to whoop but Ice quickly slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Oh.” Norway didn’t sound sad, or even the least bit agitated. Well, that was to be expected. Norway never sounded agitated. “May I ask who she is…if you like another girl?”
“Oh, that.” Sweden sounded like he almost smiled. “Denmark. I like Denmark.”
The color drained from Denmark’s face and Ice mimed laughter. Norway spoke again, her voice eerily icy. “Denmark?” she asked, suddenly sounding menacing.
“Yeah. She can’t stand me though. But that’s what I like about her.” Sweden shrugged from behind the shelf. “I’m sorry, Norway. I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“No, it’s perfectly okay.” The calm was back, the calm before the storm. Denmark shrank down behind the books, knowing Norway was buttoning up her shirt again and waiting for the next chance to sink her claws into her throat. Ice was grinning maniacally, almost rubbing her hands together in excitement.
“I guess I’ll see you around, Norway.”
“Alright.” Norway sounded distant, almost pondering, and Denmark wondered what on earth would happen next.
--
“I’m sorry about that, but I told you Sweden wasn’t interested.”
Norway, in the safety of her own room, was wiping off all the makeup she had applied. She had said, verbatim save for the ‘I like Denmark’ confession all Sweden had said to her. Denmark sat on the bed, secretly grinning but playing the role of the concerned best friend.
“I guess it was a lost cause,” Norway agreed, running fingers through her hair as she stared at herself, all makeup and lipstick gone. She turned to Denmark. “But today was just another day.”
Denmark’s eyes widened. “No! I won’t let you do this! Sweden is a jerk! He brushed you off today! He’ll do it again! Norway, I keep telling you Sweden’s a complete blowoff, and I’ll keep telling you this until you listen! He’s a manwhore, Nor, a manwhore, and he’s…”
Norway smiled furtively, tossing the cloth she used to wipe her face back on her dresser. “There’s no need to be jealous, Denmark,” she teased, walking up to her friend.
“What are you talking about?” Denmark asked, frowning confusedly. There had been no time to run home and change and the two were still wearing their uniforms. Norway fingered her collar, slipping a button loose from its buttonhole.
“You think I’m beautiful, don’t you?”
Denmark gulped, a flush covering her face. Norway smiled coyly, wrapping a lock of hair around her fingers. “You’re gorgeous,” Denmark agreed, almost tripping over the words.
“I have a confession,” Norway announced, standing right in front of Denmark and putting her hands on her friend’s shoulders, all nail polish wiped away. “I did put on makeup for someone today. But it wasn’t for Sweden. It was for you.”
“You don’t need makeup,” Denmark said breathlessly, as Norway hitched a knee on the bed and leaned into her, a sexy smile on her face.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Norway declared, in case Denmark’s denseness couldn’t see the direction this was going, and pressed her lips against her friend’s eager ones, humming as Denmark ran her fingers through her hair. Even without the fruity lip gloss, Norway’s mouth still tasted just as sweet.
“You said you wouldn’t let Sweden have me,” Norway said, her eyes flashing dangerously as her hair fell around her. “And likewise, I won’t let him have you.”
Denmark grinned deviously, reaching to grasp Norway’s shoulders. “You don’t need to be jealous,” she cackled, pulling her beautiful friend toward her again for another kiss.
Owari
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Yes, fem!Den/fem!Nor is my OTP. Notice the stragetic fem!Greece/Japan.