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Entry tags:
Thank the cold [Sweden/Norway]
Title: Thank the cold
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Sweden/Norway
Rating: 0+
Length: 227
Summary: Sometimes, Norway comes to his bed. The cold is just an excuse.
Other: Set during their union. This was originally going to be a submission to a Sweden/Norway-themed zine, but it didn't seem shippy enough for that, so I decided to put it aside.
Thank the cold
Sweden wakes to the winter's dark.
The moon spills pale light through the window, dumps it like snow over the floor and the bedspread.
He is not alone in his room.
For a moment he regards the thin shape beside him, wrapped up in quilts, already-light hair washed even lighter by the moon's light. Norway faces away, toward the window, and hasn't stirred.
Once, only once, Sweden asked him why he did this. It was on a similar occasion, after waking to find that Norway had crawled into his bed during the night. To that, Norway had only lifted an eyebrow and said, "I was cold."
And it had, indeed, been a cold clear night like this one. But Norway's bed had quilts aplenty, and that was as true on that night as it is now.
There are many things that Norway could complain about, including the fact that he is living under Sweden's roof. But Sweden sees to it that the cold isn't one of them. Nobody could say that he doesn't ensure that Norway is kept comfortably.
So why this?
He knows better than to wrap his arms around Norway, no matter how much he wants to.
Better to stay beside him in the dark, and listen to the steady sound of his breathing, and thank the cold, even if the reason is a lie.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Sweden/Norway
Rating: 0+
Length: 227
Summary: Sometimes, Norway comes to his bed. The cold is just an excuse.
Other: Set during their union. This was originally going to be a submission to a Sweden/Norway-themed zine, but it didn't seem shippy enough for that, so I decided to put it aside.
Thank the cold
Sweden wakes to the winter's dark.
The moon spills pale light through the window, dumps it like snow over the floor and the bedspread.
He is not alone in his room.
For a moment he regards the thin shape beside him, wrapped up in quilts, already-light hair washed even lighter by the moon's light. Norway faces away, toward the window, and hasn't stirred.
Once, only once, Sweden asked him why he did this. It was on a similar occasion, after waking to find that Norway had crawled into his bed during the night. To that, Norway had only lifted an eyebrow and said, "I was cold."
And it had, indeed, been a cold clear night like this one. But Norway's bed had quilts aplenty, and that was as true on that night as it is now.
There are many things that Norway could complain about, including the fact that he is living under Sweden's roof. But Sweden sees to it that the cold isn't one of them. Nobody could say that he doesn't ensure that Norway is kept comfortably.
So why this?
He knows better than to wrap his arms around Norway, no matter how much he wants to.
Better to stay beside him in the dark, and listen to the steady sound of his breathing, and thank the cold, even if the reason is a lie.