( axis powers hetalia ) bridges
Title: Bridges
Series: Axis Powers: Hetalia
Characters/Pairings: Norway, Denmark. Slight Den/Nor.
Rating: PG.
Summary: "You know, I always thought Christiania was a prettier name than Oslo."
Notes: Written on request from a friend. The request was, "Present day Denmark and Norway talking about their union, the breakup, etc!!!"
"D'ya ever," Denmark starts to say, and then stops. Norway hasn't cleaned his storage in, oh, last time was 1909 or '10. It is dusty and stuffy and cluttered; Norway is never particularly tidy about these things, so Denmark is over helping clean and sort. Some nostalgia is expected, but Denmark only breaks off sentences when he's feeling shy, and the things that make Denmark feel shy make alarm bells go off in Norway's head.
He pauses elbow deep in a trunk of old clothing to look over at the nation. Denmark is going through old maps; very old. That would do it. "Do I what?" Norway asks, even though he doesn't really feel like indulging it.
Denmark's brow knits and then he's smiling again, putting down a chart marked Denmark-Norway. "You know, I always thought Christiania was a prettier name than Oslo," he says brightly, moving a few feet over past boxes and trunks, seizing a wooden chest at random and opening it.
Norway for the time being turns back to the clothes. "No," he says.
"Christiania is kinda, prettier; more spindly- delicate, you know?" Denmark has never been great with adjectives.
"Oslo is stronger," Norway says. "Norwegian." He's not trying to start an argument, but once he says it he realizes it's too close to the topic Denmark avoided before.
"So's Christian," Denmark mutters, but it's not the tone Norway expected. He turns his head to look at the other Nordic-and Denmark catches him doing it. He sucks in his top lip and bites.
"Go on and say it," Norway says, refolding a bunad, placing it back in the chest, and turning around properly.
"D'ya try to forget all of it?" Denmark asks after a moment of concentrated frowning, his usual face when thinking hard.
Norway hadn't expected that.
He'd expected something sulky and whiny amounting to Denmark wanting praise for his culture, something easy and predictable and simple. Denmark feeds on praise, and Norway doesn't mind doling it out when pressed; for all that his friend is annoying, he is still friend before any other, and Norway does like Denmark's people and culture aside from that. And Denmark likes to hear that, and so periodically he will whine and Norway will ultimately indulge.
He had not expected a serious question.
Denmark suddenly leans forward, like he's about to go to him, but stops himself, hurrying to explain in light of Norway's expression. "I mean, I know you've got your own pride and all that! And language, and being Norwegian is- neat!" Neat. Norway almost wants to tease him for that word choice, but he's still surprised and Denmark is still barreling on. "I didn't really expect you to come back to me or anything after ya ran out on Sweden, or anything! And then you didn't come and visit for a few years, not properly, but that was okay 'cause you were starting up and that was fine! But then ya start talking about… there was that thing, 400 Years of Night…" Norway's mouth thins. "And, I just- I never hear anyone talking about how it was nice- I mean, nice, too, at least sometimes?" He sounds hopeful, and sounds like he's trying not to be. "I guess- d'ya ever miss it at all?" he finishes, and sucks his lip again.
Norway does not know what to say. He doesn't like this feeling. Of course he doesn't miss it, don't be silly, he doesn't ever want to lose his independence-but that isn't the question.
He remembers starving. He remembers being sick. He remembers being cold, and angry, and miserable; remembers the pain of losing provinces to someone else's war. He remembers the phrase 400 Years of Night, those that said things would be better under Sweden.
And he remembers that those people were wrong. And there are more memories to sort through: building projects, though not enough. Sailing. Exploring. World conferences where Norway was one of the only subordinate nations, because Denmark hadn't thought not to bring him along. Lounging in the parlor, watching Iceland practice piano and Denmark struggle to braid Faeroe's hair. Denmark muttering something about his boss, red faced, kissing him for the first time with alcohol on his breath. Later by years, days spent entirely in bed, scandalizing the servants. The presents Denmark would bring home.
Norway was not unhappy then. "I don't miss it," he says. He is watching carefully, but it isn't hard to see Denmark's flinch.
"I see," Denmark says fast-
"Don't interrupt." Norway picks his way across the small room, a more difficult task than it should be due to how little they'd so far cleaned. "There's no point in missing it," he elaborates. "So long ago. And your province."
"I took care of ya."
"I don't care that you did."
Denmark's jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue that Norway should. Maybe he should care, maybe it should count for something. But Norway doesn't believe so. He's also not, however, trying to hurt Denmark.
He is at the other's side now, and very deliberately reaches up for his face, pulling him down and brushing his lips against his. He can feel some of Denmark's tension melt away, although the kiss lasts barely a second. "I don't forget it. It wasn't all bad." Nor will he deny some of it was. "It's the past."
"Mngh," Denmark says, and rests his forehead against the crown of Norway's head. Up close Denmark smells a bit like cologne. Norway doesn't have to wonder why he bothered putting it on before coming. "I don't really mind that ya changed it to Oslo," Denmark says after a moment, standing there, only touching heads. "I just, I liked it Christiania 'cause it was something connecting, like a bridge. …I don't wanna- I wanna stay connected. Not in a creepy way or a remarriage-"
Norway pinches him quickly, to cut off what will probably be a long and repetitive clarification that will come down to something very simple. "Idiot," he says. "We're already connected." Language, history, culture, food- not everything has been changed and renamed. "Half the things in this room I took from you," he adds thoughtfully, not bothering to phrase it more politely.
Denmark grins-he can feel it-and presses a kiss to the top of his head, which is always something Norway has found vaguely annoying. "You're my best friend," Denmark says solemnly. That's not nearly all they are. But Norway doesn't argue.
"I am," he says. Denmark is simple enough that he's satisfied, diverted, and Norway isn't as sure it's settled but really doesn't want to pick more of an argument. Not while there's a storeroom to clean. Not with Denmark. "Go sort through those photo books," he orders; Denmark looks around and then obeys. "There's one with photos from the world fair in Paris I want upstairs." There are also several books with photos of himself, Denmark, and the colonies; posed and day-to-day; that's enough of an appeasement, Norway thinks. In case Denmark doesn't get the message, he decides he might as well be allowed to sleep over tonight.
On a nearby shelf, he spots a medal commemorating his independence in 1905, dull silver in dire need of polishing, the blue ribbon dark with age. Haakon VII, who was really just another of Denmark's Christian Fredericks-he smiles when Denmark isn't looking, and pockets it.
Series: Axis Powers: Hetalia
Characters/Pairings: Norway, Denmark. Slight Den/Nor.
Rating: PG.
Summary: "You know, I always thought Christiania was a prettier name than Oslo."
Notes: Written on request from a friend. The request was, "Present day Denmark and Norway talking about their union, the breakup, etc!!!"
"D'ya ever," Denmark starts to say, and then stops. Norway hasn't cleaned his storage in, oh, last time was 1909 or '10. It is dusty and stuffy and cluttered; Norway is never particularly tidy about these things, so Denmark is over helping clean and sort. Some nostalgia is expected, but Denmark only breaks off sentences when he's feeling shy, and the things that make Denmark feel shy make alarm bells go off in Norway's head.
He pauses elbow deep in a trunk of old clothing to look over at the nation. Denmark is going through old maps; very old. That would do it. "Do I what?" Norway asks, even though he doesn't really feel like indulging it.
Denmark's brow knits and then he's smiling again, putting down a chart marked Denmark-Norway. "You know, I always thought Christiania was a prettier name than Oslo," he says brightly, moving a few feet over past boxes and trunks, seizing a wooden chest at random and opening it.
Norway for the time being turns back to the clothes. "No," he says.
"Christiania is kinda, prettier; more spindly- delicate, you know?" Denmark has never been great with adjectives.
"Oslo is stronger," Norway says. "Norwegian." He's not trying to start an argument, but once he says it he realizes it's too close to the topic Denmark avoided before.
"So's Christian," Denmark mutters, but it's not the tone Norway expected. He turns his head to look at the other Nordic-and Denmark catches him doing it. He sucks in his top lip and bites.
"Go on and say it," Norway says, refolding a bunad, placing it back in the chest, and turning around properly.
"D'ya try to forget all of it?" Denmark asks after a moment of concentrated frowning, his usual face when thinking hard.
Norway hadn't expected that.
He'd expected something sulky and whiny amounting to Denmark wanting praise for his culture, something easy and predictable and simple. Denmark feeds on praise, and Norway doesn't mind doling it out when pressed; for all that his friend is annoying, he is still friend before any other, and Norway does like Denmark's people and culture aside from that. And Denmark likes to hear that, and so periodically he will whine and Norway will ultimately indulge.
He had not expected a serious question.
Denmark suddenly leans forward, like he's about to go to him, but stops himself, hurrying to explain in light of Norway's expression. "I mean, I know you've got your own pride and all that! And language, and being Norwegian is- neat!" Neat. Norway almost wants to tease him for that word choice, but he's still surprised and Denmark is still barreling on. "I didn't really expect you to come back to me or anything after ya ran out on Sweden, or anything! And then you didn't come and visit for a few years, not properly, but that was okay 'cause you were starting up and that was fine! But then ya start talking about… there was that thing, 400 Years of Night…" Norway's mouth thins. "And, I just- I never hear anyone talking about how it was nice- I mean, nice, too, at least sometimes?" He sounds hopeful, and sounds like he's trying not to be. "I guess- d'ya ever miss it at all?" he finishes, and sucks his lip again.
Norway does not know what to say. He doesn't like this feeling. Of course he doesn't miss it, don't be silly, he doesn't ever want to lose his independence-but that isn't the question.
He remembers starving. He remembers being sick. He remembers being cold, and angry, and miserable; remembers the pain of losing provinces to someone else's war. He remembers the phrase 400 Years of Night, those that said things would be better under Sweden.
And he remembers that those people were wrong. And there are more memories to sort through: building projects, though not enough. Sailing. Exploring. World conferences where Norway was one of the only subordinate nations, because Denmark hadn't thought not to bring him along. Lounging in the parlor, watching Iceland practice piano and Denmark struggle to braid Faeroe's hair. Denmark muttering something about his boss, red faced, kissing him for the first time with alcohol on his breath. Later by years, days spent entirely in bed, scandalizing the servants. The presents Denmark would bring home.
Norway was not unhappy then. "I don't miss it," he says. He is watching carefully, but it isn't hard to see Denmark's flinch.
"I see," Denmark says fast-
"Don't interrupt." Norway picks his way across the small room, a more difficult task than it should be due to how little they'd so far cleaned. "There's no point in missing it," he elaborates. "So long ago. And your province."
"I took care of ya."
"I don't care that you did."
Denmark's jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue that Norway should. Maybe he should care, maybe it should count for something. But Norway doesn't believe so. He's also not, however, trying to hurt Denmark.
He is at the other's side now, and very deliberately reaches up for his face, pulling him down and brushing his lips against his. He can feel some of Denmark's tension melt away, although the kiss lasts barely a second. "I don't forget it. It wasn't all bad." Nor will he deny some of it was. "It's the past."
"Mngh," Denmark says, and rests his forehead against the crown of Norway's head. Up close Denmark smells a bit like cologne. Norway doesn't have to wonder why he bothered putting it on before coming. "I don't really mind that ya changed it to Oslo," Denmark says after a moment, standing there, only touching heads. "I just, I liked it Christiania 'cause it was something connecting, like a bridge. …I don't wanna- I wanna stay connected. Not in a creepy way or a remarriage-"
Norway pinches him quickly, to cut off what will probably be a long and repetitive clarification that will come down to something very simple. "Idiot," he says. "We're already connected." Language, history, culture, food- not everything has been changed and renamed. "Half the things in this room I took from you," he adds thoughtfully, not bothering to phrase it more politely.
Denmark grins-he can feel it-and presses a kiss to the top of his head, which is always something Norway has found vaguely annoying. "You're my best friend," Denmark says solemnly. That's not nearly all they are. But Norway doesn't argue.
"I am," he says. Denmark is simple enough that he's satisfied, diverted, and Norway isn't as sure it's settled but really doesn't want to pick more of an argument. Not while there's a storeroom to clean. Not with Denmark. "Go sort through those photo books," he orders; Denmark looks around and then obeys. "There's one with photos from the world fair in Paris I want upstairs." There are also several books with photos of himself, Denmark, and the colonies; posed and day-to-day; that's enough of an appeasement, Norway thinks. In case Denmark doesn't get the message, he decides he might as well be allowed to sleep over tonight.
On a nearby shelf, he spots a medal commemorating his independence in 1905, dull silver in dire need of polishing, the blue ribbon dark with age. Haakon VII, who was really just another of Denmark's Christian Fredericks-he smiles when Denmark isn't looking, and pockets it.