Comfort [Norway/Belarus]
Dec. 31st, 2019 05:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roesslyngTitle: Comfort
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Norway/Belarus
Rating: 0+
Length: 1k
Summary: Belarus decides that though Norway is an outlier in her life, she doesn't mind.
Other: Written for Aphrosee for the Hetalia rarepair secret santa.
Comfort
Their breath fogged the air as they made their way back from the outdoor skating rink together.
Their skates were slung over their shoulders. Their mittened hands could have brushed against one another, but didn't.
The sun set earlier here than Belarus was accustomed to.
Belarus glanced at Norway. In the thin glow from the streetlamps, he looked paler than usual. There was a hint of a smile on his face.
She looked away. Considered this for a moment. Decided that she liked that expression on him. So she moved her hand just enough to brush against his, then took it in her own, and squeezed it.
He squeezed back.
They said nothing as they walked back to Norway's house together.
Norway had invited her to spend time at his place. Personal time, he'd said. Just the two of them. It wasn't anything new; they had done this before. But every time he asked her for this, with his quiet voice delivering such a personal invitation, it made her feel strangely warm.
This time was no different.
Nether of them had given a word to what they had together. They were something other than friends. They were something she didn't know how to describe. Belarus didn't care. What would be the point of putting a name to it, anyway?
It certainly wasn't anyone else's business.
But they had something. A satisfying something. A something only between the two of them. Hence the invitation, which Belarus had accepted, when she wouldn't have from anyone else. And the afternoon spent skating together.
At one point, her skate had hit a flaw in the ice, and she'd slipped. Norway had caught her, steadied her, kept her from falling. Asked if she was all right. Belarus had straightened herself, and told him that she was.
She hadn't minded his concern.
If it had been anyone else, she would have removed his hands from her person, and with much stronger words. She knew that for certain.
But this was different.
Snow fell in lazy, delicate flakes, caught in the light from Norway's porch lamp.
Belarus waited while he unlocked the door. Watched as the snow settled on his hair, dusting it with white. She reached out to brush some of it off, taking a liberty that she knew not everyone had.
Norway smiled, or perhaps it was a trick of the light, looking over at her for a second. Then he opened the door, and let her in.
They lingered in the entranceway of his house, taking their time with stripping off their outer layers.
The awkward shuffle of taking off boots and shrugging off coats usually annoyed Belarus. Tonight, it did not. Not so much. It helped that Norway took her coat. Polite, but without comment.
When Norway turned to her again, he took hold of her hands. Belarus allowed it, watching his face. His expression was quiet for a moment as he rubbed her hands between his own.
"You're freezing," Norway murmured. He didn't sound overly worried.
"Yes," Belarus said. "And so are you." His hands were just as cold as hers were, if not colder.
He seemed to take a moment to consider this. Then he looked at her again. "I'll put the tea on for you."
"And I'll take care of the fireplace," she said crisply.
He left her to it.
She was familiar with his house by now. That was very surprising, Belarus thought as she arranged the logs and kindling. To think that she had visited Norway often enough to be comfortable in his home – it was frankly bizarre.
This was not just his apartment in his capital, not the tiny flat in Oslo with all the sparse feeling of a hotel room. No, this was his personal, private home out in the country, and it was warm in a way that anyone who did not know him well would never expect.
Very odd to think about. Belarus frowned as she struck a match and touched it to the kindling.
From the kitchen came the sound of cupboards opening and mugs being set on the counter. Soft, low humming.
Belarus could count on one hand the number of nations whose homes she was so familiar with. And most of them were family.
She straightened. For a moment, she watched as the fire caught, spreading to sink its teeth deep into the logs in the fireplace.
Did it matter that Norway was an outlier in her life?
No, she decided. It did not.
There were small candles throughout the living room. She lit one, then went about using it to light the others. It kicked up the soft fragrance of melting beeswax.
Finally, she sat down and waited.
Norway came in with the tea. He handed her a mug, then sat down next to her with one of his own.
"I put supper in the oven," he said. "We'll have a while afore it's ready."
Belarus nodded. They had spent that morning preparing it together, getting the lasagne ready so that after they returned from skating, they would not have to do anything with it except shove it into the oven. It was, Belarus thought, a very good plan.
Her body ached. She hadn't skated in years, and his invitation had surprised her. It had been bold. He couldn't have even known if she liked skating, because she had never mentioned it.
For a moment, after he suggested it, she thought about refusing.
But she hadn't.
She didn't regret it.
The two of them sat close together. So close, their bodies touched. Just slightly. She could feel the heat rolling off of him.
She glanced at him, watching as he warmed his hands on his mug of tea. There he sat, in his hand-knit sweater, with his hair tousled from being stuffed under a hat all day. The firelight softened his features, usually just as sharp as her own.
There was something comfortable about him. About this. About everything.
Belarus gave this a moment of thought. Then she nestled closer, and rested her head on Norway's shoulder.
He didn't comment on it. He didn't move away. He didn't do anything about it at all. He merely looked at her for a moment, then relaxed, and shifted the slightest bit so that she could fit more comfortably against him.
It was, Belarus decided, not a strange thing at all to be here with him.
It was just right.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Norway/Belarus
Rating: 0+
Length: 1k
Summary: Belarus decides that though Norway is an outlier in her life, she doesn't mind.
Other: Written for Aphrosee for the Hetalia rarepair secret santa.
Comfort
Their breath fogged the air as they made their way back from the outdoor skating rink together.
Their skates were slung over their shoulders. Their mittened hands could have brushed against one another, but didn't.
The sun set earlier here than Belarus was accustomed to.
Belarus glanced at Norway. In the thin glow from the streetlamps, he looked paler than usual. There was a hint of a smile on his face.
She looked away. Considered this for a moment. Decided that she liked that expression on him. So she moved her hand just enough to brush against his, then took it in her own, and squeezed it.
He squeezed back.
They said nothing as they walked back to Norway's house together.
Norway had invited her to spend time at his place. Personal time, he'd said. Just the two of them. It wasn't anything new; they had done this before. But every time he asked her for this, with his quiet voice delivering such a personal invitation, it made her feel strangely warm.
This time was no different.
Nether of them had given a word to what they had together. They were something other than friends. They were something she didn't know how to describe. Belarus didn't care. What would be the point of putting a name to it, anyway?
It certainly wasn't anyone else's business.
But they had something. A satisfying something. A something only between the two of them. Hence the invitation, which Belarus had accepted, when she wouldn't have from anyone else. And the afternoon spent skating together.
At one point, her skate had hit a flaw in the ice, and she'd slipped. Norway had caught her, steadied her, kept her from falling. Asked if she was all right. Belarus had straightened herself, and told him that she was.
She hadn't minded his concern.
If it had been anyone else, she would have removed his hands from her person, and with much stronger words. She knew that for certain.
But this was different.
Snow fell in lazy, delicate flakes, caught in the light from Norway's porch lamp.
Belarus waited while he unlocked the door. Watched as the snow settled on his hair, dusting it with white. She reached out to brush some of it off, taking a liberty that she knew not everyone had.
Norway smiled, or perhaps it was a trick of the light, looking over at her for a second. Then he opened the door, and let her in.
They lingered in the entranceway of his house, taking their time with stripping off their outer layers.
The awkward shuffle of taking off boots and shrugging off coats usually annoyed Belarus. Tonight, it did not. Not so much. It helped that Norway took her coat. Polite, but without comment.
When Norway turned to her again, he took hold of her hands. Belarus allowed it, watching his face. His expression was quiet for a moment as he rubbed her hands between his own.
"You're freezing," Norway murmured. He didn't sound overly worried.
"Yes," Belarus said. "And so are you." His hands were just as cold as hers were, if not colder.
He seemed to take a moment to consider this. Then he looked at her again. "I'll put the tea on for you."
"And I'll take care of the fireplace," she said crisply.
He left her to it.
She was familiar with his house by now. That was very surprising, Belarus thought as she arranged the logs and kindling. To think that she had visited Norway often enough to be comfortable in his home – it was frankly bizarre.
This was not just his apartment in his capital, not the tiny flat in Oslo with all the sparse feeling of a hotel room. No, this was his personal, private home out in the country, and it was warm in a way that anyone who did not know him well would never expect.
Very odd to think about. Belarus frowned as she struck a match and touched it to the kindling.
From the kitchen came the sound of cupboards opening and mugs being set on the counter. Soft, low humming.
Belarus could count on one hand the number of nations whose homes she was so familiar with. And most of them were family.
She straightened. For a moment, she watched as the fire caught, spreading to sink its teeth deep into the logs in the fireplace.
Did it matter that Norway was an outlier in her life?
No, she decided. It did not.
There were small candles throughout the living room. She lit one, then went about using it to light the others. It kicked up the soft fragrance of melting beeswax.
Finally, she sat down and waited.
Norway came in with the tea. He handed her a mug, then sat down next to her with one of his own.
"I put supper in the oven," he said. "We'll have a while afore it's ready."
Belarus nodded. They had spent that morning preparing it together, getting the lasagne ready so that after they returned from skating, they would not have to do anything with it except shove it into the oven. It was, Belarus thought, a very good plan.
Her body ached. She hadn't skated in years, and his invitation had surprised her. It had been bold. He couldn't have even known if she liked skating, because she had never mentioned it.
For a moment, after he suggested it, she thought about refusing.
But she hadn't.
She didn't regret it.
The two of them sat close together. So close, their bodies touched. Just slightly. She could feel the heat rolling off of him.
She glanced at him, watching as he warmed his hands on his mug of tea. There he sat, in his hand-knit sweater, with his hair tousled from being stuffed under a hat all day. The firelight softened his features, usually just as sharp as her own.
There was something comfortable about him. About this. About everything.
Belarus gave this a moment of thought. Then she nestled closer, and rested her head on Norway's shoulder.
He didn't comment on it. He didn't move away. He didn't do anything about it at all. He merely looked at her for a moment, then relaxed, and shifted the slightest bit so that she could fit more comfortably against him.
It was, Belarus decided, not a strange thing at all to be here with him.
It was just right.
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